The Woes of Being Derek Hale
by Vergileus
Summary: Derek needs to learn to tell the difference between bad advice and good ones. All he wants to do is court Stiles, who happens to be the most dense person he's ever met, and also happens to be his mate. The universe really hates him.
1. Stiles likes animals, get him a pet

_So this is a ficlets/one-shots/drabbles series revolving around Derek in his conquest to court a brick oblivious Stiles (seriously, guys), with the help of the pack and their not-so-helpful advice. I guess it's slight AU._

* * *

He doesn't know why he even listened to Scott when he suggested this.

_"He loves animals, Derek!"_ Scott told him cheerfully when he asked his beta about Stiles, and the things that make the teen happy and, well, make Derek happy, as well.

On the inside, of course. Not that he'd tell anyone, because if his mate is happy, then Derek is happy. Not that he'll show it, either. He has a fucking image and reputation to keep.

And that's how he finds himself at a local pet shop, looking for the perfect pet for his mate. One that he can train to protect Stiles and keep up with the pack when they do their running exercises through the preserve.

And not just any pet will do, no. He will not have the runt of the litter be his mate's pet. Derek is looking for specific traits.

He's looking for loyal, friendly, and _vicious_.

Okay, maybe not that vicious, but at least have some bite to their growl. Derek is sure Stiles will accuse him of attempted murder if he gets him something _too_ vicious.

Derek takes a quick glance at the pups.

They all turn their smalls head up, to look at him. Some let out low growls while other whimper softly. He smirks in amusement.

Good. They know that he's the alpha. Now he doesn't have to make them submit.

He risks a look to his right and sees a little boy bending down and picking up one of the pups. The boy then brings up the pup close to his face and smiles brightly when the pups licks the tip of his nose. Derek feels the corner of his lips twitch slightly at the sight. He wonders if Stiles will exude that same warm happiness the kid is.

He returns his attention back to the pups once the little kid walks away with the small dog cradled in his arms.

This is hard.

He did not know that picking the perfect pet was this difficult.

Derek kneels down and pets a few, their fur feels soft and silky against his rough hands. He stops and picks up one that caught his interest, cradling it gently in his arms.

A Husky, with auburn-white fur; Derek looks down at his feet as the other Huskies gather around and drinks in the black-white mass. Derek holds the small pup close to his face. Two pools of sapphire stare back at him with wonder.

_This one must be the black sheep of the litter_, he thinks.

Studying its wolfish features carefully, Derek also notes a diamond patch of white fur adorning the pup's forehead.

The puppy's reaction is to lean in, lick, and lightly bite Derek on the nose with its baby teeth, causing the alpha to chuckle lowly.

He found it.

But first things first, Derek flashes his eyes at the pup and smiles when the pup lowers his head.

"I'm the _Alpha_."

The pack, as usual, flips out when Derek brings something new to the Hale house—something that's not very Derek.

And a small puppy is not Derek, so Erica says.

They're all on the floor rolling about with the pup. Jackson is trying his best not to _coo _(Derek swears he heard it) every time the pup runs up at him and sits on his lap. Erica, Isaac and Boyd are all running after it when the pup hops off Jackson's lap and runs about in the family den. Scott doesn't fall too short from them. And Stiles...

Stiles is brimming with happiness, but it isn't the same type the little boy at the store was exuding. Derek scrunches his brows together and stares at his mate.

Stiles turns, as if his gaze was burning holes on the back of his head, and smiles at him. Derek feels the rush of blood warming up his face and nods quietly.

"Okay, guys," Stiles clasps his hands together. Everyone turns their attention off the pup and towards the teen. "Now, I know we are all excited that Derek _finally_ got a dog to keep him company, but..."

Keep him company? What? No, no, he did not spend three hours of his life at a pet store for Stiles to misunderstand this.

Derek continues to stare at Stiles in confusion. Doesn't Stiles see that the dog is for him?

He shoots Scott a look, hoping that his beta will explain, but Scott simply gives him a sheepish smile and a shrug.

"We all have to jet, 'cause you know, Harris and that big test coming up."

"What? Stiles, no, you see..." Derek starts, but to no avail, the teen is out the door in the matter of seconds. "It's for you," goes unsaid, too many ears here to hear that.

He stops Scott from passing through the threshold once everyone else left. Derek corners him up against the wall and jabs a finger on the beta's chest, eyes bright red, "Why did he leave the dog here. It was for him." He points his other finger at the sleeping pup on the couch.

The beta reeks of fear and amusement. Derek growls, low in his throat until Scott's mouth flaps open and words begin to spill out, almost as fast as Stiles, "Well, Derek, you see, Stiles is kind of dense. _Really dense_. Soo, don't take it personally? Besides his dad probably won't let him keep the dog. So, uh, better luck next time?"

He steps back, mind processing the bit of info his beta just told him. He runs a hand across his face in exasperation.

Great.

This is freaking great. He not only had found his mate, but, here is the best part: his mate is fucking oblivious to his courting. Or attempt of courtship.

He doesn't blame Stiles. He's a bit rusty at this. He hasn't tried to court anyone since Kate.

"Derek?"

"Unbelievable," he breathes out indignantly as he stomps upstairs, leaving Scott standing there, looking lost.

Stiles didn't even name the dog.

Derek swears he'll only listen to good advice from now on.

* * *

_Sorry if this sucks, this is just me playing with words._


	2. The Way to a Man's Heart is

_I do take requests for ideas on pack advice for Derek. _

* * *

He doesn't know why he listened to Peter _this_ time.

"_The best way to a man's heart is through his stomach, Derek. Make him breakfast. Also, try to make it stand out, you know? To get your point across."_

He doesn't know why he listened to Peter of all people.

But here he is, covered from head to toe, in _flour_. He exhales slowly and loudly through his nose and reminds himself that this is all for Stiles. His spastic, energetic, sarcastic, yet dense as hell mate.

Derek still curses the universe for such a mate. He'll have a long, _long_ talk with Stiles once he can get his point across Stiles' thick head. But for now, he'll keep his courting attempts a secret.

He inhales and exhales slowly and tries once more. Making a simple freaking pancake can't be this hard. Yes, although he has no aptitude for the culinary arts, a simple pancake can't be this fucking hard to make.

_½ cups and 1 tablespoon of flour_

_1 ¼ teaspoons of baking powder_

_¼ teaspoon of salt_

_1 teaspoon of white sugar_

_1/3 cup and 2 tablespoons of milk_

_3/8 egg_

_1 tablespoon and ¼ teaspoon of melted butter_

A simple pancake recipe for two, and yet, he's failed more times than he can count, at making them. His first attempts came out too burnt, then too crude, and his last attempt the pancake itself got stuck to the pan and when he went to pull, the thing had a _hole_ at its center. How he wishes Laura were here to help him out, but he has the sinking feeling that she, too, would jump in the wagon along with Peter to see him crash and burn in his attempts of courting.

This batch is looking good. They smell good, too.

"_Make it stand out."_ Peter's words ring clear in his ears as he flips them. Derek wonders how he can make it _stand out_, as Peter says. He scavenges the recesses of his mind to call up on the little things that he knows Stiles might enjoy with his pancakes.

Bacon? No. Stiles told him that he too, had given up bacon since his dad can't eat it.

But that's when something hits him, metaphorically speaking, of course.

Scott told him that Stiles likes chocolate chips in his pancakes. And well, Derek does too, though the only one that knows this is Peter.

And so he adds a cup of chocolate chips to the batter cooking on the pan.

And if he has the stupidest smile on his face as he does this, it's no one's business but his.

And that's when he tries to take Peter's "_Make it stand out,_" to another level, and well, shapes the pancakes...in what he hopes will get his point across.

The pancakes come out perfect, yet a bit not how he expected at the same time. They aren't burnt or crude or have a hole in them, but…

"Hey, big guy," his ears catch Stiles' upbeat voice, the scraping of a chair against tile, and he breathes in Stiles' sweet scent, the one that calms his wolf. Stiles' eyes rake over his body and snorts, "I see you had fun with the flour."

He looks down at his flour-covered henley and frowns.

"I guess you can say that," Derek replies gravelly, stoning his expression, and presents his mate with the results of his four-hour long struggle in the kitchen. Not that Stiles will ever know he almost set the house on fire at one point this morning.

Stiles leans in, takes a whiff from the pancakes and lets out a content sigh. And Derek's wolf is howling with pride at this.

"How'd you know I like chocolate chip pancakes?"

_Scott._

"Lucky guess?" Derek shrugs the questioning look and holds the spatula in one hand behind his back as he watches Stiles eat with gusto.

Everything is going smoothly until Stiles decides to look at the pancakes and then at Derek and then back at the pancakes.

"Uh…Derek?"

"Yeah?"

He knits his brows at Stiles' confused tone and expression to match. Surely he sees it. Derek hopes he gets it.

"Why do the pancakes look…like _livers_? I mean, I know you are no Gordon Ramsey and all. But I'm pretty sure pancakes are _round_."

And the spatula may or may not have snapped in his hand.

"Stiles," he drags the name out slowly, because they're not supposed to look like livers, they're supposed to be _hearts_. Or resemble something close to a heart.

And he may or may not be bleeding. He can feel part of the broken spatula deep in his palm.

"Dude, I'll teach you how to make proper pancakes. But right now, I got to jet. Thanks for the breakfast!"

Derek tries to stop him, but Stiles always seems to be ten times faster than him whenever they are alone, which honestly, he's a damn werewolf, and an alpha, too.

He glares at the pancakes cooling on the pan.

They had one job._ One_.

But upon closer inspection, they did, in fact, look like _livers_.

He can say that the whole "The best way to a man's heart is through his stomach" is a load of bullshit.


End file.
